


Bedtime Stories

by ranchelle



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-26
Updated: 2011-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranchelle/pseuds/ranchelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris is envious of his fictitious counterpart in Varric's friend-fiction of him and Hawke.  He demands Varric to teach him how to please Hawke, but it is really himself he has to first learn to please.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedtime Stories

Varric takes off his glasses, pinches the bridge of his nose and puts down his quill.  He doesn't like being disturbed when he's on a roll.  A particularly broody elf has stumbled into his palatial suite uninvited.  Before Varric can graciously invite him out, the elf sweeps a gauntleted arm across his table, scattering his writing tools to the floor with a flourish.

"You enjoy it, don't you?  Writing utter _nonsense_ about Hawke and I," sneers Fenris.

"You're drunk, Broody.  Why don't I get you a room so you can sleep it off?" suggests Varric.  He know better than to pick a fight with a drunk warrior in full armour.  Even if what the warrior is wearing is the lightest and skimpiest excuse for warrior armour he has ever seen.

"I'll have you know there was no sweeping involved," drawls Fenris, "and you don't know a thing about Hawke.  I didn't do anything for Hawke at all."

"Are you talking about bedroom play?"

"What else?" says Fenris as he takes another swig from a bottle of cheap wine.

"Why don't you tell me all about what I got wrong?  I'd love to stand corrected," persuades Varric.

"Why should I? I don't care for your books, but Hawke asked me to read them and I did," Fenris snorts.

"Ah, so Hawke has taste," says Varric.

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't burn all your books to the ground right here, right now."

"Because if you're looking for advice, I'm the man.  Even the Rivaini comes to me for advice on sexual play."

"How do I know if this is not all empty talk and lies?" snarls Fenris, looming over Varric and grabbing him by the collar.

Varric rolls his eyes.  A Fenris on Hawke's leash is normally quiet and reserved, but a drunk Fenris without Hawke's eyes on him seems to have no qualms being completely obnoxious.  He can understand, given the clues so far, that the elf is most likely unhappy over his writing because...

"You're jealous of the Fenris in the book, aren't you?" says Varric, his eyes brightening up.

 _Fenris knows who he is to the Champion and what he wants from him.  He eyes his prize, licks his lips and rests a hand on his hip provocatively.  He licks his lips like a hungry wolf, waiting for his prey to come to him._

Recalling lines from what he read made Fenris's face turn a shade darker.  His grip on the dwarf loosens and he splutters. "Why should I be if they are lies?  I am nothing like what you've written."

 _I can read you like a children's picture book,_ Varric thinks.  He peels the elf's clawed fingers off him and explains in the simplest way he can manage for the warrior's benefit.

"Telling a good story is what I do best, Broody.  A good story doesn't mean the story as you see it, but one that people want to see.  It helps, of course, that I have a working knowledge of many, many things," Varric smirks.

"These _lies_ you wrote of," hisses Fenris, "Hawke seems to enjoy them."

"But of course.  I aim to please."

"Then...teach me."

Varric gives Fenris a long, hard look.  Fenris lowers his head at the discerning stare and frowns.

"I do not jest, dwarf.  You...seem to know what people want.  If you are not lying about what you know, then you will teach me how to...please Hawke like in the book."

The rogue chuckles.  The elf finally admits jealousy over a made-up version of himself.  It is deeply flattering to see the elf feeling so deeply over something fictional.  He huffs, his glorious chest sticking out from the gilded lining of his coat proudly as he leans his forearm on the table and looks up at the elf.

"I'm not into elves, Broody.  However, if you insist, I suppose I could teach you a little something.  You and Hawke will come running to me for more when I'm done with you," says Varric.

Fenris has the cheek to snort at his claim.   _Cocky bastard._ Varric saunters over to his generous bed and lays Bianca down gently before drew soft satin over her.  There will be no sullying the lady's eyes with horny elves.  

Getting Fenris to strip is the easy part.  Fenris makes no show of that, favouring to simply drop all his armour and clothes on the floor.  Varric duly notes that the elf does not possess any smalls under his tight leggings.  No wonder Hawke never takes his eyes off the elf's ass whenever he walks ahead of the man.

Already Varric can see green eyes sobering up, determined to commit this night to memory and make good of what he is to learn.

"First off, is there anything I should know?  Such as the off-limit areas on your body?"

"You may touch me anywhere except..."

"Private areas stay off limits.  Hmm, that's plenty to work with.  I was expecting a 'no-touching-at-all' protest from you," says Varric.  He points to the table and gestures for Fenris to get onto it.  A dark eyebrow quirks up but no questions are asked.  The warrior hops onto the table and sits there, slender legs dangling off the edge.  His eyes dart around and he crouches slightly into himself, his battle-wary senses comes on by instinct.

"Fenris," says Varric in a dashing-chevalier way only he can pull off, "do you know which part of your body, when stimulated, gives the most pleasure?"

"If I knew I wouldn't be here, would I?" growls the elf.

Varric shakes his head and sucks his teeth in disapproval.

"Listen and do as I say."

Fenris's brooding silence is taken as assent.

Varric picks up a book atop the dresser and takes his glasses back out from his pocket and wears them, adjusting so they sit comfortably on his nose.  He gives Fenris a look, then back to the open book in his hands and clears his throat.

"In the dimly lit room, the dark warrior runs his fingers through his white hair and gives the Champion a smirk.  He leans back, baring his tattooed neck, exposing his vulnerable jugular to the mage.  He is a proud wolf willing himself to be at the mercy of his lover."

"You're...reading from a book?" Fenris's eyes widens.

"This one's a work in progress.  I don't think you care for spoilers anyway.  Just trust me and play along, elf."

Fenris raises a brow but does as he is told, easing back onto the table, stretching out to expose his slender neck.  Almost instantly he feels his shoulders relaxed as he does that and he hums a little approval at how a simple movement can wring the tension out of him.

Varric closes the book and puts it aside, then moves over to lean on the table, close enough to rub shoulders with his student.  He places a warm hand on Fenris's shoulder and whispers into the elvhen ear, "He shows his lover where he would liked to be touched..."

"I...do not know.  I have never been asked such a—"

"Hush.  You must never show that you're uncertain," admonishes Varric.

"Then what should I do?"  Fenris asks in a small voice, eyes downcast.

"He taunts his lover to find out for himself, pulling his large hand over to his smooth chest," narrates Varric.

Fenris reaches cautiously for Varric's hand and guides it down to his breast.  That hand, warm and coarse and strong, thumbs his nipples in circles and a moan escapes his throat.  He stops short, painfully aware of the strange sound he is making and quickly pushes the hand away from his chest, downwards.  Rough fingers run over his ticklish ribcage and he shudders.

"He finds his nipples sensitive and reaches his own hand to it while letting his lover's hand wander further," whispers the storyteller.

The lean warrior keeps true to Varric's story and as he strokes his fingers over a nipple, letting the large warm hand move down his waist to his hips.  He gasps when the hand slides behind and rubs the small of his back.  

"...there," gasps Fenris.  The storyteller leans in and nibbles gently on his ears.  A breath hitches in his throat and he bites down on his lower lip hard.

The husky voice breathes in his ear, tickling him and making him squirm.  Trying to pull away makes the teeth nip harder on his overly sensitive ears.  He whimpers.

"The warrior cannot help but lean towards the Champion, his elvhen ear taken hostage between his lover's teeth.  The Champion strokes his back in long, firm strokes along the lyrium lines.  His other hand moves to tilt the elf's chin up to his eyes," says Varric.

"You're too short—ahh!"  A sharp bite on his ear cuts Fenris off.

"Use your imagination.  You're staring in your lover's eyes now."

Fenris takes a deeper breath and looks up.  He thinks of Hawke and those clear brown eyes.  As a fighter, he does not assume to be attractive.  He wonders what Hawke sees in him.   _Will he smile?_

"The Champion smiles for his lover, a smile he gives no other," says Varric, catching the little expressions on his student's face.

At the prompt, he cannot help but imagine Hawke smiling at him; an understanding, knowing smile.  He returns the smile.  Varric notices it and shows his approval by continuing his tale.

"He moves around to hold the lean warrior from behind," Varric takes his time to climb atop the table and seats himself comfortably behind Fenris.  He wraps his arms around Fenris's torso and pulls the elf back into his embrace.  He continues to tease the elvhen ears with his teeth and teases Fenris's tight lips open with his fingers.  Fenris growls at the thick fingers stubbornly pushes against his lips but yields and allows them to slip in, licking them submissively when they draw away, only to push in again.

"The wolf allows his Champion to do what he will with his mouth.  He imagines the fingers to be his lover's length and devours them with desire," says the rogue.

Fenris captures the hand to hold it in place while he takes the fingers into his mouth, sucking and running his tongue around them.  Just when he is about to push them further down his throat, the wet fingers jerk out of reach and he curses in Arcanum.  They trail down to his inner thigh and grip hard at the tender flesh.  Fenris yelps.  The grip refuses to loosen, fingers digging in painfully, and he squirms, trying to move away from them and succeeding in spreading his legs open.

"His lover comfortingly toys with his nipples with a hand and coaxes his legs open with the other," summarises Varric.

Fenris surrenders to the pictures the words paint and the sensations that come with it stirs his cock to half-arousal.

"The warrior gives in first and foremost to his own needs and satisfies himself with his hands, but the Champion will not let him have everything.  He finds the warmth gone from his nipples and a hand wraps around his neck, tightening his air flow and denying him from the sight of his aroused member."

" _Venhendis,_ " rasps Fenris, his words barely audible as the words stick halfway in his constricted throat.  He finds it hard to speak further and focuses on breathing.  Looking at the ceiling, which is all he can see now, the little flickering flames on the chandelier draws him into a trance.  The thin sheen of perspiration on his skin glistens amber as it takes in the warm, golden glow of the fireplace.  He whimpers, soft and full of desperation, for the hand around his throat forbids him to look at himself.  His hands gropes blindly for his throbbing cock.  A sigh of relief escapes his lips when he manages to wrap his hands fully around his burning, needy length and stroked.

"The Champion will not let his love come so easily.  He pulls the slender hands away from his cock and asks his love to prepare himself," whispers the storyteller.  He covers Fenris's hand with his and and guides the elf's fingers away from his cock, trailing over his soft sacs to hover at his entrance.

Fenris's eyes widen, a hint of panic rising in the green.  He had never associated penetration with anything pleasant.  Before he was freed from Danarius there had been instances where he was used like a body slave.  He never really remembered how it went except that it was generally unpleasant.  If he was ever aroused, he would be humiliated and denied release.  No one asked him what he wanted.  He did not, and still does not know what he really wants.  

"I can't...this is...in the past as a slave—" Fenris panics, pulling his hands away.

A hand soothes his chest and tells him to breathe slowly.

"The wolf in the warrior will not be restrained.  He will please himself first and foremost before anyone else.  He brushes the hand off his neck and works into his tight entrance with his own hands, determined to show that he is the master of his own body," narrates the dwarf, knowing exactly what Fenris wants.

The words calm the warrior, and he tears the restraints at his neck.  It empowers him, and renews his confidence.  He reaches for the tight ring of his anus and plays with it, dipping the tip of his fingers in and out, as if testing if the waters are inviting enough for him to wade into.  Varric supports his weight as the elf's opened legs puts him off balance and causes him to lean back into the broad, sturdy dwarven chest.  The storyteller strokes Fenris's chest and hair, murmuring encouraging words into his ears, goading him on.

The hunger grows in the pit of his stomach, and the desire to satisfy himself takes over any insecurities left on his mind.  Fenris coats two of his fingers with saliva and pushes them into himself until he could go no further, the base of his fingers blocking the way.  He moves and twists them , trying to stretch himself.  Adding a third finger is trying.  He is too dry and too tight; his spit does nothing to ease the fingers along.

Silently, Varric hands him a small bottle of elfroot.  A good choice of lubricant if one didn't mind the slightly musky, damp smell of elfroot.  Fenris bites the cork off the bottle and spits it out with impatient ferocity.  He pours the healing liquid generously over his fingers.  He drives three fingers into the tight ring of muscles and moans when the cool liquid takes away the sting and slicks the walls of his passage.

His free hand moves over to his cock, alive and twitching with desire.

"Hawke, I want..." Fenris pleads.

Suddenly, Varric behind him shifts and pushes him away.  He almost loses his balance and his momentum is lost.  He supports himself on the table as his legs lower themselves to let his feet find the floor.

He turns to glare at the dwarf, who has by then, sauntered over to the door and raps on it three times.

"The warrior is startled from his reverie as a knock comes from the door.  The images of his lover disappear."

Fenris looks as confused as the story told.  His cock is hard, his hole wet and slicked; he thinks he has been played by the dwarf.   _Is he to be denied like he has always been?  Is he wrong to even crave satisfaction from his own body?_ He snarls in frustration.

"Let me continue," Varric puts up a hand and clears his throat.  "The wolf awakes from his fantasies to reality and finds it sweeter than he expects."

Varric opens the door, and Hawke comes striding in as if on cue. 

Fenris tilts his head, puzzled.

"His Champion comes to him, and they both know what they want.  He sits upon the table, legs spread, teasing as if he is served like a delicacy upon the table for his lover, all wet and ready to be taken," says Varric, his eyes gleaming in mirth.

Fenris glares at him for a moment, but when Hawke strides over and pins him on the table, he knows that if the dwarf has played a trick on him and he is not unhappy for it.  He laughs and and slides a hand around Hawke's neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

Varric knows how to make an exit.

"This is my room, so you'll have to tell me in detail what happens later, Hawke," says the storyteller, closing the door behind him as he leaves.

"I owe you one, Varric," Hawke shouts after him, between the possessive kisses his lover is planting on him.

"How long have you been listening outside?"

"Long enough for the absence in my heart to burst with fondness for you."

"Flatterer."

"Are you still drunk?"

"Hardly," snaps Fenris.  He tugs at Hawke's pants, pulling at the laces.

Hawke lets Fenris loosen his pants just enough to draw his stiffened cock out.

"Hurry up," he hisses.

"I like it when you're demanding," smiles Hawke.  He pushes Fenris back down into the table and hitches Fenris's legs up.  His elven warrior scrabbles for him and digs his slender fingers into his hair as he patiently slicks himself with the rest of the elfroot potion, not wanting to hurt his lover in the least.  He positions the tip of his aching shaft to the waiting entrance and waits.  

"Are you sure you want this?  The last time we tried—"

"Yes, Hawke," says Fenris with absolute confidence, "I want this."

Hawke smiles and plants a kiss on the corner of Fenris's lips.

"I want this too," he replies.

Fenris's hole is tight and Hawke is ever gentle, but he is also persistent.  He pushes past the tight ring of muscles and the head of his cock pops into Fenris without much of a struggle.  He hears his lover moaning softly as he pushes slowly, inch by inch.  He watches Fenris's face, looking for signs of distress.

There is none.  There is no doubt, no conflict, no confusion.

"Hawke," Fenris whispers, his voice hoarse and tight.

"Fenris," Hawke acknowledges.  He grips his lover's thighs and drives in all the way until his balls rest on Fenris's ass.

"What did Varric teach you?"

"A load of nonsense," dismisses Fenris.  He recalls something interesting and brings it up, "He asked me a question he never answered."

"Which is?"

"He asked if I knew what the most part of the body gives the most pleasure."

"What do you think?"  Hawke leans in and teasingly kisses Fenris on the nose.

"Shut up and fuck me hard," growls the warrior.  His hands contradicts the harshness of his command, caressing the larger man's cheeks with unspoken gentleness.

"As you wish, my love," grins Hawke.  He grips Fenris's thighs, spreading his legs wider to ease his thrusts.  He does not start slow, for he knows Fenris does not appreciate being treated like a fragile maiden.  Still, he watches Fenris's face carefully, not wanting to hurt him.  Fenris's eyes are half-lidded in ecstasy, his breathing ragged.  Fenris is never one to be loud in bed, but the hard wood beneath him makes him squirm and moan.  His back finds no comfort as Hawke drives into him.  The pain makes him a little uncertain and his brows knit.  Hawke senses it and slows his thrusts to a stop.  Fenris looks into his Champion's eyes and knows that even as he takes Hawke into himself, he is the one in control.  He holds onto Hawke's shoulder with a hand and wraps his other hand around his cock and strokes.  He is free to take his pleasure of his own body.

"Go on," commands Fenris, his quirky, teasing smile makes Hawke laugh from his belly.  He drives deep and hard, and Fenris finds himself unable to think of anything except for Hawke's shaft, thick and warm, buried deep within him.  And it is what he wants.

He comes quickly, squirting his seed over his stomach.  He clenches around Hawke as he pulls in and out, but for Hawke it is just the beginning.  Fenris knows Hawke is far from coming.  He pushes the man off, and Hawke lets him without any sign of protest.  The elf wonders what he has done to deserve such a giving man and could almost feel the stinging of tears threatening to well in his eyes.  Instead, he trades tears for joy and chuckles in his deep, throaty voice and stands face to face with Hawke.

"Let me ride you until you come," he whispers and turns them around, pushing Hawke onto the table.

"You don't have to force yourself if you don't want to.  I understand," murmurs Hawke.  His voice is broken, filled with need, but he lets Fenris have the say.

"I want to do this.  For you," says Fenris, but when he thinks upon his words, he shakes his head and corrects himself, "for us."

The Champion's eyes smile for him and Fenris thinks it is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.  He tells him so, and Hawke thanks him.  He climbs onto his lover's lap and straddles him.  His cock has already gone soft and his hole aches and burns from the unaccustomed stretching from the previous round.  Still, his hand reaches for Hawke's large cock and slowly eases himself upon it.  Hawke places his hands on the warrior's buttocks, spreading the cheeks wider to help him down.  He winces at the stinging sensation but knows it will soon give way to pleasure.

When Fenris seats himself fully, he wills his breaths to even, taking a moment to collect himself before moving.  Hawke gives him full reign, allowing him to set the pace.  He doesn't assume and doesn't demand.

"You are beautiful, Fenris," says Hawke.

"So I am, only for you," says Fenris.  He feels a rush of adrenaline from his own words, as if he is released from chains that has bound him to misery for years.  There is magic in Varric's words, and now there is the same in Hawke's words.  Their words seem to heal the festering wounds that the foul magic of the Imperium has cast upon him.

Fenris wraps his arms around the man and leans in for a kiss.  A beatific smile spreading across his face as he raises his hips and moves along his lover's thick member, refusing to break away from the kiss even as he gasps for breath.

"Rub my back?" asks Fenris softly.  His uncertainty disappears when Hawke immediately complies, rubbing the small of his back and he moans, finding his limp cock twitch in excitement again in no time, to his own surprise.  He grinds harder against Hawke, marvelling at the Champion's patience at his clumsy administrations.

"I love you, Fenris," Hawke murmurs into their kiss.  And that is all Fenris needs.  He breaks off the kiss and spends his remaining strength clinging onto Hawke and lets Hawke help him, thrusting deeper and harder than ever before, hearing the cheeks of his buttocks slap satisfyingly against his lover's balls.  The head of the agonisingly hard cock driving into that single spot inside him that makes him arch and gasp in pleasure.  His cock is full and hard again once more, dragging itself across his Champion's belly as he rides up and down.  He allows himself to moan with every thrust, and when Hawke grunts get louder, he knows they cannot last much longer.  He clenches his muscles around Hawke and makes the last thrusts as excrutiatingly tight as he can give it, and the sensation makes the both of them come at the same time.

The hot seed spilling into him makes him clench and hiss, and he in turn spills onto Hawke's stomach.  They stay together that way for what seems like eternity, thoroughly exhausted and staring into each other's eyes in amazement of what just happened, before breaking into child-like giggles and pulling the other into a long, gentle kiss.

 

\- . - . -

 

"So, how did it go?" asked Varric.

"Amazing.  I knew he had all that passion hidden somewhere under his broody demeanour," said Hawke.

"What exactly is the most sensual part of one's body?" asks Fenris, mildly disgruntled that he never received a proper answer.

"It's all in your head, Broody," answers Varric.

"Are you playing me for a fool?"

Varric sighs and mutters something about Hawke really owing him more than a few favours for playing tutor to his elf.  "It means your mind, when stimulated, will give you the most pleasure.  You lack confidence so it pisses you off to see Fenris in my books getting his way."

"Don't be afraid to tell me how you feel.  I will never reject you," smiles Hawke, rubbing his hand over Fenris's arm.

"Feel free to try out all the kinky role-playing from your deepest fantasies.  I'm sure Hawke will say yes to anything you suggest," grins Varric.

"You must have planned this from the beginning," says Fenris, rolling his eyes.

Hawke's smile turns sheepish.

"Here, the latest copy's out," Varric says, handing a thin book to Hawke.  The Champion of Kirkwall thumbs through it and whistles appreciatively.  His elvhen companion shifts up to him and looks over his shoulder.

"You can read this tonight when we get back," suggests Hawke.

"I'm not going to read that," snorts Fenris.  He is taken aback when Hawke puts on his most dejected expression.  The warrior fumbles and hesitates for a moment, but collects himself readily enough to slide his arm around the taller man's waist and pull him close.  He knows he loves this man more than his life.  If his desires, put into words, can feed the flames of their love, he would give it freely.

" _You_ can read it to me this time," Fenris growls, and they kiss.

 

 _Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> It started off as a challenge to write Varric/Fenris simply because it is not Fenris/Anders. I am very fond of Fenders so it is sad that the first explicit fic (also the second explicit fic in my life) I'm writing for Dragon Age 2 is not Fenders slash... Anyway, the fic diverges to m!Hawke/Fenris midway but I hope the challenge is considered completed because it is not Fenders. ^^; In another note, this is the first time I've written an entire fic in present tense. I hope I didn't screw up too much.


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